5 Seconds Of Summer Imagines

Michael Imagine

Sequel to the friends with benefits smut in my other book :)

"Don't cry, y/n, you know that kills me," he says with a soft voice, but he makes no effort to comfort me as he watches from across the room with all of his clothes – minus his shoes and jacket – back on.

"I don't mean to cry, Michael," I grit, falling back into my pillows and cuddling myself further into my blankets, "Just go, will you?"

"Don't you want me to stay over?" he asks, it could be disappointment and hurt in his tone, but all I hear is a mocking tone at my childlike behaviour.

"God, no."

He says nothing else as he grabs the rest of his things, pulling his jacket around himself and opening the window once again. I close my eyes to feign sleep so that I don't have to look at him again, and I only reopen them when I hear the window close.

He's gone. That's when I let the real tears go.

~

It's been over a week since I last saw or heard from Michael.

I never plucked the courage up to contact him myself; and why should I? Especially when he insulted me after using me constantly for months on end, all whilst claiming I'm his best friend. I still have no idea what I did wrong, and I doubt I'll ever find out. It's just a shame that a friendship has now been ruined because of sex and feelings – even if they're one-sided.

Instead, I try to focus on my studies. Writing assignments, working on projects, attending lectures and avoiding Michael Clifford. Not like I need to try very hard at the latter, he hasn't exactly been blowing up my phone with messages or bombarding me with calls.

Assignments. That is the sole reason as to why I'm at home on a Friday night and not out partying with friends like I was supposed to be. That, and I heard Michael might have been going so I swiftly avoided that with the lesser evil of assignments.

Typing furiously on my keyboard, I bop my head to the music blaring through my earphones in the hopes of cheering myself up and motivating me to do my work. It sort of helps; I've closed down all of my social networking sites and I've managed to type my name into a word document. Nothing like good old procrastination.

Sitting in my own little world, I re-read the information my lecturer gave me on my assignment and I hum to the tune playing in my head.

Then I'm left scared shitless when I feel someone touch my shoulder and spin me around. I scream loudly, my voice piercing through my room as my earphones are ripped out.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N!!" Michael wails, hands over his ears and his eyes screwed shut, "I think my ears are bleeding."

"How the fuck did you get in here?" I fume, my chest moving up and down rapidly as I take deep breaths to steady my heart.

"You left your window open. Again," he rolls his eyes, dropping to sit down on the end of my bed and staring at me as I sit at my desk. He's acting like he never even dropped from the face of the earth for the last week and a half, or that he made me cry. Fucking pig.

"Get the hell out!"

"What? Why?" his eyes widen in shock, his pathetic look of innocence winding me up and I want to slap him.

"Why? Are you fucking retarded? Scratch that, I would be insulting retards, that's not fair when they've done nothing wrong," I grit, my anger lacing every single word and I don't even realise half of the things I'm saying to him.

"I'm sorry, is that better?" he rolls his eyes, not an ounce of care or realisation for the way he made me feel. What an arsehole.

"No, it's fucking not. You made me feel like dirt, Michael. Like something you stepped in. A quick 'fuck and chuck' and then made me out to be the biggest burden in your life. Well, you know what Michael Clifford? Go fuck yourself." I spit out and he's stood in front of me, mouth agape and green eyes wide and glossy. I begin to regret my words, then I remember how he made me feel and the guilt vanishes.

"Y/n- "

"No. Don't even bother."

"You're so infuriating!" he shouts, the sound hitting me and making my anger rise higher.

"I'm infuriating?!" I practically screech in response, and I want to slap him. So I do.

"What the fuck?" he stands holding his left cheek, my hand stinging as I glare at him and he looks like a sad little boy.

"Leave."

"You don't get it do you?" he mutters, eyes cast down to the floor and he's speaking to the carpet. I don't respond, I just wait with baited breath for him to talk without any interruptions or an argument, "It's you. It came out as if you're a problem to me, and believe me when I say that you are not. The other night – the last night I saw you – I was confused and thinking of ways to confess how I feel to you. You always pushed me into talking, but I suck at it, so I chose sex instead. And even then, I called you cute names and practically worshipped your body, just like you always should be."

I furrow my brows, standing in pure confusion as he continues his speech, his jade green eyes staring straight into mine without any hesitation or even a blink.

"I have feelings for my best friend. That's why you're the problem. I didn't want to fall for you and end up being hurt. There's a difference between being sexually attracted to someone, and the way I feel about you. I just didn't want to tell you everything and have you tell me you don't feel the same. So, I bailed. You told me to leave, and because I love you, I did it. Even though it pained me to do so. I love you, y/n, and I'm scared out of my mind to say it out loud."

His voice breaks on numerous words, but I don't pay attention as soft, crystal like tears fall from his eyes and he screws them shut like a broken man without any knowledge of what he is going to do next.

"I love you, too."

He cries. Sobs shaking his body and I pull him towards me, feeling his tears and damp cheeks in the crook of my neck as I play with his hair and let my own tears fall. We look like such a mess, but I like it.

"Please don't just say that to make me feel better," he whispers, almost like he is talking to himself, and I hold him tighter against me.

"You've known me for how long? When have I ever said something to spare your feelings? I love you, Michael Clifford. Even if you're a massive fucking idiot."